One More Kiss
by Rosgrana
Summary: Some years after Hogwarts, Harry receives news of an old... acquaintance. Slash. Finally... Chapter 4 is up
1. Default Chapter

Chapter: 1/4  
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K Rowling.  
Spoilers: None  
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the reipient's mood at the time.  
Author's Note: My first ever fic - please be gentle!  
  
ONE MORE KISS  
By Rosgrana  
  
Harry stared down at the report on his desk without actually seeing it; wondering why life always seemed to be so... flat. He started to mentally tick off the points of his life, trying to analyse what it was that made him feel not-happy. Not *un*happy, exactly, but definitely not *happy*.  
The War. Well, that obviously wasn't something to be happy about. The wizarding community had been fighting Voldemort for five years now, and Harry himself had been doing it even longer, since his first year at Hogwarts. On the other hand, recently things had been going fairly well for the good guys, and Harry's continued survival could only be counted as a victory, since his personal battle with the Dark Lord was concentrated on stopping Voldemort from killing him.  
Home. Nothing to get excited about, but comfortable, private, nothing to get miserable about either. And he supposed he could change it if he wanted to; but material things just weren't that important to him. Which brought him on to:  
Money. He had plenty. Which was, of course, A Good Thing. He'd have a reason to be not-happy if he was broke, or had to worry about the bills.  
Work. Steadily improving. He'd joined the Auror's Office at the Ministry of Magic straight from Hogwarts, and been flabbergasted at how *boring* his first couple of years had been. Nothing but training in protecting himself (and others) and routine clerical work. These days, though, he was doing more actual field work, which was... not fun, exactly, but interesting, and what he'd joined the Ministry to do. He was still very junior, and wasn't allowed anywhere near the really dangerous stuff, like the continuing attempts to break the wards on Voldemort's headquarters, but he was making a real contribution to the war effort, and he knew he wasn't ready for that kind of thing yet. Since he'd learned so much more about the Dark Arts than they taught at Hogwarts, he'd been horrified to realise just how recklessly he'd endangered himself during his school years, and how lucky he'd been to survive them at all. So work wasn't bad, really, even if his boss was the most unpleasant person he'd met since Severus Snape.  
Relationships. Ah. Well. Harry had decided a while ago that relationships were just not his strong point. Somehow, he always managed to mess things up big time. Jon, his most recent boyfriend, had been very clear on that point when he left. "You know, Harry," he'd said. "You have got to sort out what you really want. Half the time you're lovely, and the rest you're pushing me away. I do care for you, but I can't stand this any more." But then, Jon was now living with an Estate Agent called Tarquin, so what did *he* know? Hermione reckoned Harry was afraid of commitment because of his years with the Dursleys - enough to sour anyone on family life. It was as good an excuse as any.  
Hermione. Friends. Harry smiled to himself. When it came to friends, he was pretty lucky really. OK, *very* lucky. He'd had his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, to lean on for eleven years now, and the bond was as strong as ever. They'd been through adolescence, school, war and various near-fatal experiences together, they hardly ever wanted to kill each other these days, and the other two didn't even blame him for all the times he'd got them almost killed or actually into trouble. He had plenty of other friends as well, not least his Godfather and his former Headmaster, but Ron and Hermione would always be something more to him, and he to them. On the whole then, life was fairly good. So why did he feel lousy?  
"Well, here comes one reason," he muttered under his breath, as Eilunedd Wynne-Davis snatched the door open and strode in, glaring.  
"I hope that's work you're smirking over, Potter," his boss announced, her tone making it clear that work was the last thing she expected to find Harry doing. He had never worked out what the older witch had against him; his first month she'd been all sweetness and light, and then suddenly changed into a human(ish) version of something Hagrid would like.  
"Yes, Eilunedd, it's work," he said with exaggerated patience. "It's the report on recovery rates from the Cruciatus Curse using different counter-curses."  
"You were supposed to finish that last week," she snapped. "Go over to Research and find out if they've got me that information on resistance to Veritaserum. And don't spend half the day gossiping to Weasley, either." The other occupants of the office shot him looks of sympathy, but no-one risked saying anything and drawing Eilunedd's fire.   
The Research and Records department fascinated Harry. He could never understand how they managed to work in the chaos of books, ledgers, parchments and various magical storage devices that littered the place. He was gazing round in awe as he waited for Reg Bettany to unearth the notes he'd made for Eilunedd, and didn't notice someone else approaching until she came up behind him and hugged him.  
"Hullo, Harry! Have you heard? Isn't it wonderful?"  
He jumped, then grinned at Hermione and asked "Heard what? Are the Cannons top of the League?"  
Reg snorted, and Hermione laughed. "Fat chance! Mind you, they drew with Wimbourne two weeks ago, and Ron was in such a good mood that when I got an owl from Viktor he didn't even ask what 'that duck-footed git' wanted!"  
"*That* good a mood? Wow!"  
Ron was as junior among the Chudley Cannons coaching staff as Harry was at the Ministry, but swore he'd be manager one day, and if anything, was even more obsessive about the team than he'd been at school. Hermione had persuaded him to ditch his safe but tedious job with Gringotts for something he *wanted* to do not long after they'd married, and two years later Ron was still unmistakeably thrilled with both the big changes to his life.  
"Well, if it's not Quidditch, what's the big news, then?" asked Harry.  
"You mean you really *haven't* heard? They've broken the wards on the Riddle House!"  
Harry was stunned. Voldemort's HQ was officially known as "Target site #1", but everyone in the wizarding world knew where it was, and the local name was used by everyone except Percy Weasley, who still had trouble breaking rules.  
"How? When? What happened? I haven't heard anything about it! Last I knew, they were as far off as they've ever been!"  
"Well, officially nothing *has* happened, of course. It's all terribly hush-hush still. The team are taking the place apart stone by stone, and nothing will be announced until they've finished. If it was made public they wouldn't be able to move for people coming to gawp, once they knew they could get near the House without being turned into something unpleasant."  
"So how come you know about it, if it's all classified?"  
Reg snorted again.   
"This *is* the Research department, Harry," Hermione said casually. "If they could stop *us* finding things out, they'd have to sack us for being inefficient, wouldn't they?"  
"Well, tell me the rest, then! Was anyone captured? Any of our lot injured? What have they found in there?"  
"I don't know all that much more myself. It only happened two days ago. No prisoners, I do know that. There was a general Apparition spell linked to the wards, so when they went down, You-Know-Who and everyone else shifted straight out. Almost certainly to somewhere abroad, but no-one knows where. Could be any of a dozen or more places, that's one of the things they're searching the House to try and find out. Still, they couldn't take much with them, no time, so all their records and a whole lot of other stuff is still there, which will make life very difficult for them, wherever they are."  
"You're right, it *is* wonderful! This could be the turning point of the whole war! And don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you're sharing Ministry secrets with all and sundry."  
"Never thought you would," grinned Hermione. "If we can't trust The Boy Who Lived, who can we trust?" Harry flushed; he still hated that name. "Come over for dinner at the weekend, and I'll tell you everything I dig up in the meantime. You'd better get back to work, I bet Eilunedd's timing how long it takes you to fetch those papers."  
Harry groaned. "God, I loathe that woman! I'm trying to think of something I can do that she can't bollock me for, that will really get up her nose. Apart from existing, that is. I've decided there's no point trying to get on with her, so I'm going to get some fun out of her hating me. I just wish I knew what her problem is."  
"Fancies you," said Reg and Hermione in unison.  
"Everyone knows that," added Reg.  
"It's true, you know," Hermione said gently, trying not to snicker at Harry's horror-struck expression. "When you first started here, she was flirting with you like mad, remember? Then when she found out you're..."  
"Gay," interjected Reg.  
"...unlikely to return her interest," continued Hermione, ignoring him, "She decided that you're unnatural and she hates the sight of you."   
Harry was stunned. "I wonder..." he mused. "Does that make winding her up unfair, or just much easier?"  
"Easier." Hermione replied firmly. "She can't help having weird ideas about... alternative lifestyles, but she needn't be such a cow. You don't have to be perfect, Harry, just because you're on the good side in the war. Ron and I've spent eleven years trying to convince you of it, and it's only polite for you to pretend we're succeeding occasionally."  
Harry laughed at that, and headed back to the office with the notes that Reg had finally found under his coffee cup. There was an owl sitting on his desk when he got there, so he gave it some of his lunch and untied the message from its leg. It was from one of the staff at Azkaban that he had contact with occasionally.  
  
Harry,  
this isn't an official thing, so you can ignore it if you like, but we've got someone here who wants to see you - not as an Auror, just a visitor. We shouldn't really allow it until after he's been interrogated, but since you're often here anyway, we can get round that if you want. An old classmate of yours, I gather: Draco Malfoy. He was picked up at the Riddle House (and you didn't hear *that* from me, either!) Like I said, it's up to you whether you see him or not, but you need to make your mind up fast. If half the rumours I've heard about him are true, as soon as he's tried, he's looking at execution. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, if he was a friend.  
  
Draco Malfoy. Harry's heart lurched. These days, he tried not to think about the son of Voldemort's most trusted assistant. The blond Slytherin had been his Nemesis throughout his Hogwarts days. Enemy and rival for seven years, and, for two glorious months, his lover.  
  
*******  
  
TBC 


	2. One More Kiss chapter 2

Title: One More Kiss  
Author: Rosgrana  
Chapter: 2/4  
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.  
Spoilers: None  
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.  
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.  
Author's Note: A thousand thanks to bondagechic, ClarKeRaVen, Bishounen Rapist, Gryphon and Cithara for the reviews. In obedience to your wishes, here's chapter 2!  
  
Harry spent the next two days going through the motions of work while he wondered what he was going to do, then realised that he had no choice. If he didn't go to see Draco - *Malfoy*, he corrected himself - he'd always regret it; wonder what the other had wanted to say, curse himself for not having had the nerve to face him one last time.   
  
Having made the decision, he quickly found an excuse to go: some information he would need to get from one of the captured Death Eaters who had turned informer for the Ministry; and arranged a visit to the prison.  
  
He got his official business out of the way first, feeling that it was unlikely he'd be in much of a mood to discuss Voldemort's forces after talking to the person who'd left him to join them. All too soon he was standing outside the heavily warded cell that held Draco Malfoy, nodding politely as the guard said apologetically; "Can't give you long, I'm afraid, since officially I haven't even let you in here, but you can see him alone if you like. I'll be outside the door, but there's no need for anyone in the room - he's under too many charms and spells to do anything worse than insult people."  
  
"He was always quite good at that," Harry said, a little shakily. "He could probably do some damage if he catches you with a nasty one."  
  
The warder laughed, unlocked the door, and then Harry was on the other side of it, facing the figure sitting at a small table opposite him.  
  
//He's changed,// thought Harry tritely. The boy - no, man - at the table hadn't looked up as he came in, still sat regarding his clasped hands which lay on the table before him, his head bowed. //He's too thin. He looks... damaged.// There were no signs of injury on the prisoner, but every line of his body spoke silently of weariness and pain.  
  
"Hullo..." Harry wasn't sure what to call him, and let the greeting tail off.  
  
Draco looked up at last. "Hullo, Harry. I didn't know if you'd come." His voice was unemotional, giving nothing away. //No change there.//  
  
"I... well..." Harry struggled for words. "I came. Why did you ask me to?"  
  
Draco looked straight at him for the first time, and said, "I wondered if you'd changed your mind." Harry thought he saw a spark of the old mockery in the shadowed eyes.  
  
"Changed my mind...?" he asked, puzzled.  
  
"About that kiss."  
  
Harry's memory instantly supplied an all too vivid picture of the last time they'd spoken.  
  
  
They had been sprawled together on the grass, away from curious eyes, in a little-used part of the Hogwarts grounds. Half a term away from leaving school for good, they took every moment they could snatch from lessons, quidditch and revising for their NEWTs to be together. No-one knew they were... seeing each other, although Ron and Hermione knew Harry was up to something (or some*one*, as Hermione had said, when stopping Ron from asking too many questions) and he thought they probably guessed more than they let on.  
  
"It'll be weird," began Harry. "After this term. No more Hogwarts. No more Quidditch Cup, no more sneaking around at night avoiding Filch, no more messing about in the common rooms. I'm really going to miss being here."  
  
"Well, I'm not. No more revision, no more exams, no more McGonagall lecturing us, no more rules, no more 'Don't do that.' I can't wait. Except..."  
  
"Haven't you enjoyed school at all? I've been really happy here. I suppose it's because I've been so miserable at the Dursleys."  
  
"No, it's because you're a great big sap."   
  
Harry thumped Draco affectionately. "I can't believe you won't miss anything at all about Hogwarts. You're just acting cynical as usual."  
  
"Quidditch, I suppose. Can't see myself doing much playing in future." Draco looked away, and muttered almost inaudibly, "And you."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"I said," he replied irritably, "that I'll miss you."  
  
"Why?" Harry was sure he must be missing something.  
  
"Because I... like you. A lot."  
  
"I know. At least, I kind of assumed you do. Since we're... well. I mean, why will you miss me? It's not like we'll never see each other again after we leave, is it?"  
  
Draco stared. "Yes, I should say it's pretty unlikely we're going to have anything to do with each other. Don't tell me that hadn't occurred to you? What did you think would happen?"  
  
"Well... I just thought, we'd keep on... meeting up. I don't know what I'll be doing, exactly, and I know your father won't exactly be pleased, but... for heaven's sake, Draco, you're eighteen! You don't have to let your family choose who you get involved with!"  
  
"My family! Do you think that's all there is against this?" His gesture indicated the two of them, sitting up now and glaring, hurt and puzzled in Harry's case, incredulous in Draco's. "In case you hadn't noticed, there's a war going on! And when we leave here, we'll be going straight into the middle of it! There's no possible way we can carry on together when we're on opposite sides of the biggest conflict in wizarding history! What planet have you been on?"  
  
Harry was beginning to realise what Draco was saying... but that couldn't be true. Draco wouldn't - *couldn't* do that. Harry tried to convince himself he still didn't understand, but he knew he did. "You're going to join Voldemort." It wasn't really a question, but the desperate disbelief in his voice begged for a denial.  
  
"Harry, I joined You-Know-Who just by being *born*! I don't have a choice in this, any more than you do. We're both stuck with the side we've got, and nothing's going to change that."  
  
"That's bollocks, Draco." Harry's voice was shaking, with anger or distress he didn't know. "You had a choice. You still have. You're trying to justify the choice you've made by saying you couldn't help it, because you know it's the wrong one. I thought... I thought what was happening with us mattered to you. It did to me. I thought you cared about me!" He didn't care if it sounded pathetic; the best thing he could remember happening to him was not only falling apart, it seemed that it had never really existed.   
  
"I do care. You know that! I hate it that we can't stay together, but I'd be insane to think there's any way for it to happen! All we can do is make the most of the time we've got."  
  
Harry laughed humourlessly. "You're definitely insane if you think I'm having anything more to do with you! You seriously expect me to carry on sleeping with you until we leave, when I know that once term ends you'll take the Dark Mark and begin torturing and murdering the people I care about? When I know you'll kill me if you get the chance? That would really make you some points with Voldemort, if you killed me, wouldn't it? Pity you didn't think of it before you told me which side you're really on. You've had some good chances recently!"  
  
"Harry... it's not... you don't understand."  
  
"I bloody well do, you know!"  
  
"So you're just going to walk away now?"  
  
Harry was on his feet. "What do you think?"  
  
"Harry..." Draco got up, looking at Harry with an unreadable expression. "One more kiss?"  
  
Harry turned and walked away. They didn't speak again.  
  
  
  
To be continued. 


	3. One More Kiss Chapter 3

Title:  
Author: Rosgrana  
Rating: PG13  
Chapter: 3/4  
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.  
Spoilers: None  
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.  
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.  
Author's Note: Thanks to Azeem, Amythyst Angel, Eien, Scap, Remy, MOI, and Bondagechic and Gryphon again, for the reviews. I LOVE reviews!  
  
Harry thought about those last weeks of school. He'd gone through them in a kind of trance, trying to pass his NEWTs, make the most of his final days of childhood, and hide the fact that his heart felt as if it had been crushed in a vice. Ron and Hermione had asked no questions, but closed ranks around him, supporting, trying to cheer him, and reminding anyone who wondered why Harry wasn't himself of his home situation, and that he was effectively on his own once he left school. Harry wouldn't have made it without them, not for the first time.  
  
****************************************************************  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked, aiming for the impression that he'd forgotten their last meeting. Draco's "Don't give me that" expression told him he'd failed.  
  
"Well... as the next kiss I get looks like it's going to be from a Dementor, I thought it would be pleasant to kiss you again first."   
  
//How can he be so calm? Talk about his own death as if it's a minor inconvenience?// Harry was hard put to keep himself from trembling at the thought of the horror that was the Dementors, administering the Kiss to his former love, even though he knew it wouldn't happen. He sat down clumsily.  
  
"Don't be ridiculous. There haven't been Dementors here since Fudge resigned as Minister. You know that."  
  
"Really? That's true then? I assumed it was just propaganda - show how humane you lot are. Still, whatever happens to me is unlikely to be much more pleasant, is it?"  
  
Harry couldn't look at him. Anyone who saw them would think their positions were reversed, that *he* was the all-but-condemned prisoner, nervous and inarticulate; and the self-contained, mildly amused blond opposite him was the one who could walk out of the cell when he chose.  
  
"Sorry," said Draco, not sounding at all as if he meant it. "Forgot you've got a bit of a thing about Dementors. Shouldn't have mentioned them. Change of subject.  
  
"Here we are, then," he went on. "The Auror and the Death-Eater. Just as so many people expected us to end up. The only question was who would be the prisoner and who the captor. It's nice to have these things settled, isn't it?"  
  
Harry ignored the mocking bravado. "What happened? I didn't think anyone was captured when the wards fell. You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not," he went on hurriedly, as a shadow came into the silver-grey eyes, "but I... wondered."  
  
"Yes. I've done some wondering myself." There was anger in Draco's voice, though he tried hard to keep his tone even, and something else. Regret?  
  
"I wasn't in the House when the wards went down. If I had been I'd've Disapparated along with everyone else. I was away, on a... job." Harry had no wish to know what the "job" had been, although the interrogation team would be very interested. "For some reason, no-one made contact to warn me about the situation," //That's why the anger, then.// thought Harry. "So I walked straight into a bloody Ministry patrol that was guarding the place. They were rather surprised, but not, I'll admit, as surprised as I was. Anyway, someone recognised me pretty sharpish, and that was it. Here I am. Nothing too nasty's been done to me yet, ignoring the odd kick and shove, but I'm not counting on it lasting."  
  
He stretched elaborately, feigning unconcern, and his sleeves slid back to reveal his too-thin forearms. And the Dark Mark. Harry stared at it, revolted and fascinated, the visible sign of evil on what he'd once thought was perfection. Draco's eyes followed his, and there was something that looked like pity in his face when he met Harry's eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked softly. "You knew it was there."  
  
"Why?" The question seemed to come without any input from Harry's mind. He needed to know. "Why did you choose... *that*? And don't give me that crap about being born to it."  
  
"You really are terribly arrogant, you know, Harry." Draco was still perfectly calm, and slightly patronising. "You don't think anyone but yourself has any honour or standards at all, do you? It never even occurred to you that I might have made the same choice you did, for the same reasons - to join the side I thought was the right one, and fight for what I believed in? That never crossed your mind, did it?"  
  
"No," said Harry, stunned into honesty, his mind turning over a possibility he'd never even imagined before.   
  
"And of course, you're quite right; I didn't."   
  
Draco grinned. Harry wanted to thump him. //He always did know exactly how to push my buttons. Wanker.// Then Draco was speaking again.  
  
"So, why? Greed, I suppose. For power, influence, whatever. And fear, too. The Dark Lord's reaction to people who don't do as he expects is not something I'd experience voluntarily." He became serious suddenly. "You just don't understand the fear he can engender. Even after all your encounters with him, you still aren't really afraid of him. I don't think you have any idea how unique that makes you. Or," grinning again, "how much it pisses him off. And, of course, I thought we were going to win. That's probably the most important reason. I chose the side that gave me the best chance of coming out on top. Looks like I may have slipped up a little there."  
  
"And that's it? You figured the odds and chose the most evil force that's ever existed, just like that?" //You threw me away for power and safety?//  
  
"Harry... I'm not like you. Good - evil - they don't matter to me. All that matters to me is me. Remember that."  
  
"And I didn't matter to you, either, did I?"  
  
A long silence.  
  
"Yes. That's the part I've never understood. People *don't* matter much to me - and it looks like it's mutual, from the lack of interest my colleagues took in preventing my capture. But you did. Even when we were sniping and fighting, it mattered what you did, what you thought. We were... connected. And the time we were together, that was the happiest I've ever been. Seven weeks and four days. Giving it up was the hardest thing I've done; and I've done things you really don't want to know about." He shook his head, looking down at his hands with a self-deprecating smile. "Sorry, I don't usually get sentimental. Put it down to impending death."  
  
Despite the mockery, Harry had seen the honesty in Draco's face when he talked of their connection. He had felt it himself too. Love him or hate him, he had never been indifferent to Draco. And he still wasn't.  
  
They were each completely focussed on the other, their world reduced to the two of them, and they both jumped about a yard when the voice of the guard came from the doorway. "Errm... I can only give you five more minutes, Harry. Sorry."   
  
Five minutes, to end a cycle of hate and love and hate again that had lasted years, and meant more to Harry than he'd admitted even to himself. He didn't need to think, just stood up, and met Draco's gaze. He smiled. "One more kiss?"   
  
Draco stood too, and they moved into each other's arms as if the last few years had never happened. The world narrowed again to a circle that enclosed only this place, this moment. There was no right or wrong here, no past or future, and Harry tried to imprint every sensation on his memory, to hold the kiss forever. It wasn't nervous and furtive like their first kiss, or urgently passionate like so many since then. It was a sad, sweet completion, their lips gentle, their tongues twining and stroking, their hands sliding over one another's bodies to learn all the changes since they last held each other. It was... //coming home// thought Harry. //Coming home at last, and knowing I have to leave, and I'll never be here again.//  
  
It could have been seconds or years later when the apologetic cough from the guard forced them back to reality. They moved reluctantly apart, and Harry started to speak, but Draco put his hand to Harry's lips.  
  
"Don't. There isn't anything to say. Just... goodbye."  
  
  
To be continued. 


	4. One More Kiss Chapter 4

Title: One More Kiss  
Author: Rosgrana  
Chapter: 4/4  
Disclaimer: Everything recognisable is stolen, mostly from J.K. Rowling.  
Spoilers: None  
Feedback: Oh please! Praise will be gratefully welcomed; criticism will be carefully considered; flames will be ignored or mocked, depending on the recipient's mood at the time.  
Archive: I'd be flattered, just let me know.  
Author's Note: Thanks again to all reviewers; and particularly to Laur, for pointing out that I'd got Ron completely wrong in this chapter, and helping me see how to improve him. (I hope - if he's still lousy, it's my fault.)  
  
  
  
Afterwards, Harry never remembered much about that afternoon. He Apparated safely but inaccurately back to London, finding himself in a muggle house - mercifully empty - some miles from the Ministry. He let himself out, cast a quick spell to give his robes the appearance of a coat, and began to walk. Blind luck wasn't something to rely on, and he didn't want to splinch himself. His feet moved automatically, as his mind hurtled around an endless loop of simple, nightmare truth. //I love him. I always did. Whatever he is, whatever he's done, won't change that. And I'll never see him again.//   
  
It was the fading light that brought him to the realisation that he had been walking for hours. It had begun to rain at some point, and he was soaked. He looked around him, and found that he wasn't far from Ron and Hermione's flat.   
  
Hermione answered the door, at first pleased to see Harry, then, looking closer, her expression became concerned. "Harry! What's up?"  
  
He didn't answer. He found he couldn't. His voice just wouldn't form the words.  
  
"*Ron!*" bellowed Hermione over her shoulder. And then: "You'd better come in. Whatever it is, we can't fix it on the doorstep." She pulled Harry into the flat, and steered him, unresisting, to a chair.  
  
Ron appeared out of the kitchen, looked briefly at Harry and shot back in, to reappear a moment later with a steaming mug, which he pushed into his friend's grateful hands - Harry was slowly waking up to the fact that he was freezing cold - while giving Harry's shoulder an awkward squeeze. "Want to tell us?" he asked.  
  
So Harry did. The whole story, from Hogwarts to the final meeting that day. It took him the rest of the evening, what with questions from Hermione, outraged or incredulous mutters from Ron, and several more hot butterbeers for all of them, but he felt a little better for it; a little less alone.  
  
From that point, Harry's friends took over. He would never have made it through the next few weeks without them.   
  
Hermione made herself quite unpleasant to his department and sorted out a leave of absence - he didn't know exactly what she told them. Then she announced that he was staying with them until *she* thought he was fit to go home. Harry nearly smiled then. He hated the thought of being on his own, but would have been uncomfortable accepting an invitation in his present state, feeling that he was such awful company he'd be better alone. Orders were different; there was no point arguing with Hermione when she spoke in that tone.  
  
Ron took as much time off work as he could get away with, and spent it with Harry; sometimes talking about nothing in particular; sometimes listening to Harry go over and over the same story, trying to make sense of the situation; generally waiting until he thought Harry couldn't hear to mutter: "Bloody *Malfoy* of all bloody people...!" but mostly just... being Ron.   
  
Having Ron there, knowing that, whatever happened, Ron would accept him, care about him, and offer to beat the crap out of anyone who hurt him, meant the world to Harry. Ron didn't say much, he never did, but he didn't need to. They understood each other.  
  
Hermione said little either. Harry assumed she was deliberately not telling him what she knew about Draco from work, and was glad - he knew what was going to happen, and didn't want to have to know exactly when or how - until he overheard Ron asking her, and her reply, "I honestly *don't* know! They aren't releasing *anything*! There hasn't been a word since they announced that he'd been captured, and was being interrogated. It's driving us all mad!"  
  
Gradually, Harry recovered. He soon decided that inactivity was only making him worse, and, two weeks after his visit to Azkaban, when he was quite sure that "It" must be over, he went back to work, and to his own home.   
Other than a few brief "You better?" enquiries, nothing was said about his absence, which was a relief, and so was burying himself in the work which had piled up on his desk. Routine tasks shut his mind off from thoughts of Draco, and he began to feel as if life might go on after all, so the letter came as a shock.  
  
It arrived nearly a week after he went back to work, and the official seal on the parchment told him that it was from Azkaban. He came very close to throwing it away unopened, but instead waited until dinnertime, when the office was empty, and he could read it unobserved. The writing was shockingly familiar, and Harry read the letter with a sense of unreality.  
  
  
"Harry,  
it will probably surprise you, perhaps even pleasantly, to learn that I'm still alive, and likely to stay that way. You may know that there's a method of rendering a person partially immune to Veritaserum - although they can't lie, they can keep silent - and that means that the Ministry must negotiate with me for the information they want. It seems that my loving Family made a mistake in abandoning me so completely, as I know a great deal more about the activities of the Death Eaters than they are aware, and the Ministry is *very* eager to hear all that I can tell them.   
I'm probably going to spend the next five years or so here, perhaps even less, as I have a fairly shrewd idea of where the Dark Lord and his cohorts Apparated to on the breaking of the wards - I suspect people will be quite keen to know that!   
Compared to execution, I can quite look forward to mere imprisonment. Five years spent being told what to do, surrounded by people who hate, fear or despise me - it will be rather like Hogwarts, except without you to redeem it. Mind you, you could always visit; I am of course completely converted to the Cause of Virtue, if only because its victory is my only chance of staying alive now that I've betrayed the Death Eaters.   
Don't worry, I'm not asking you to wait for me, or anything, but it does seem a pity to waste it, if there's still time for one more kiss...?  
  
Draco."  
  
  
  
Scribbled out above the signature was a word that *might* have been "love".  
  
Harry was dumbstruck. //He *knew*! He knew when I saw him that this was going to happen. And he let me think... *Bastard*!// He was furious, and breathless with relief.  
  
He read the letter again; just to make sure he wasn't dreaming. 'Don't worry, I'm not asking you to wait for me...' //You know I'm going to though, don't you, you manipulative little shit.// He leaned back in his chair, grinning like an idiot.  
  
"I can't believe they've done it!" Eilunedd crashed into the room, looking furious. "They've actually done some kind of deal with *Draco Malfoy*! Can you *believe* that?"  
  
"Only just." Harry was still grinning.  
  
Eilunedd actually looked at him then, "I hope that's work you're smirking over, Potter." An evil thought occurred to Harry.  
  
"Actually, no," he said sweetly, "It's a letter from my boyfriend. I'll tell you about him sometime. Right now, though, I've just got enough of my lunch hour left to reply, so if you'll excuse me..?" He grabbed a roll of parchment, and began to write:  
  
  
"Draco,  
there will always be time for one more kiss...  
  
  
The End 


End file.
